


Awl

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a porn meme. <a href="http://de-nugis.livejournal.com">de_nugis</a> said, "So, tying Sam to a chair and sticking a belt in his mouth is great for soulfisting. Might also work nicely in other circumstances. Cas rides bondaged!Sam." That's...pretty much it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awl

Sam's shoulders are burning with the strain of the angle of his arms, pulled back and down behind him, and his wrists are chafing under the ropes tying them to the chair, where the straight wooden back meets the seat. But he cannot fucking _care_ , because Cas is working himself down into his lap, onto his cock, in a slow, agonizing slide that makes everything else irrelevant.

Even the rough edge of Cas's belt against Sam's tongue, the length of leather folded thickly between his teeth.

Cas is so tight around him, so tight, and Sam wants to move, to get his hands on the sharp blades of those slim hips and fuck up into him hard and fast and deep--but that's not an option, not with the way he's sitting, the way he's tied. All he can really manage are little forward jerks of his hips, but when he tried that, Cas _stopped_ , just stopped above him with only the head of Sam's dick inside him, and gave him a _look_.

So Sam doesn't move. Cas fucks himself deliberately down the length of Sam's cock like he's got all the time in the world to feel every fat inch, and Sam strains his arms against the ropes and digs his teeth into the belt and _shakes_ with just how much he does not move.

Finally, Cas pushes down that last, aching stretch, and Sam's in to the root. Cas gives a little sigh, low and soft, as he settles his weight in Sam's lap, lean thighs spread wide, and between that and the feel of him, the hot clutch of Cas's body all around his cock, Sam's breath quakes out half-voiced.

Gripping Sam's shoulder with one hand and the back of Sam's neck with the other, Cas starts riding him, a slow, steady roll. Too slow, again--on purpose, Sam knows, and he groans. But Cas is implacable, his gaze dark and intent on Sam's eyes as he fucks himself at his own pace on Sam's dick. The cant of his hips nudges his own hard cock against Sam's stomach with every push, leaving slick smears all over Sam's skin, and fuck, _fuck_ , Sam needs _more_. He starts laving the belt in his mouth, licking and sucking at it as much as he can, biting down and pushing the flat of his tongue against the damp rasp of its folded edges.

When Cas realises what he's doing, his eyes go black, pupils bleeding out until there's nothing but a thin, sharp sliver of blue at the edges, and Sam just has time to think, _Jesus_ , before Cas abandons his stubborn rhythm completely. With a shift to his angle in Sam's lap, Cas starts fucking him _hard_ , lifting up and shoving down, riding his cock rough and fast, finally, _finally_. Sam, with a desperate kind of triumph, matches the new pace with the movements of his tongue, working it against the belt, heat building and roiling low in his gut with the way Cas's gaze falls to fix on his mouth and his throat.

And then Cas leans in and starts mouthing, slack and messy, at Sam's lips where they're stretched around the belt, licking wetly at Sam's skin and his teeth and the contours of the leather, and Jesus fuck that's _it_ \--Sam's hips jolt under Cas as he comes, guttural sounds that want to be curses choking out of his throat as he bites down viciously on the belt. The feel of Cas grinding down on his lap once more before spurting warm and sticky all over his stomach gives a hot twist to his last, deep pulses.

When Cas pulls the belt from Sam's mouth, the leather is wrecked, damp with saliva and dented from Sam's teeth. Later, as they're getting dressed, Sam sees him holding it, looking at the damage, and automatically offers a sheepish, "Sorry." Then, on second thought--and with the realisation that, hell, Cas can just mojo the thing back into pristine condition--he adds, "But it's kind of your own fault."

Cas looks up. "I know," he says, and, still looking squarely at Sam, threads the belt on anyway, bite marks and all.


End file.
